


Guilt is a parasite (that doesn't deserve forgiveness)

by korereapers



Series: FE3H fic series [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Closeted Character, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Parents As People, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24480415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korereapers/pseuds/korereapers
Summary: The day is grey and cold, as it usually is in Fhirdiad. For Gustave, it was pride, it was joy. But now His Majesty is dead, and His Highness is broken. He wasn’t there, shielding the king’s body as Dedue is shielding Dimitri’s. The chapel smells like incense, and the Saints’ gaze, looking at him from above, don’t seem comforting for once. It all looks oppressive, accusatory. It doesn’t bring him solace anymore.He has failed.And so, he leaves.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Gilbert Pronislav, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Gilbert Pronislav, Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd/Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius
Series: FE3H fic series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773310
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20





	Guilt is a parasite (that doesn't deserve forgiveness)

**Author's Note:**

> Alt title: both rodrigue and gustave have a crush on lambert, the fanfic. it's sad
> 
> This is NOT a happy fanfic. You have been warned.

_I have failed. I have failed_ him _. I have failed everyone._

The words drill through his skull like a mantra, molting needles on his brain.

The funeral isn’t even that big, considering the circumstances. Commoners are restless, staying at home while nobles pretend that everything is fine, that they can deal with this.

The decapitated body of the king, half burnt inside of the casket, thinks otherwise. So does the empty armor of the bodiless heir of house Fraldarius.

So does the prince, his expression vacant as his own father is buried, as if his heart hadn’t fully accepted that his father is no longer in this world, that one of his best friends lost his sharp tongue forever, that the only mother he ever knew is nowhere to be found. His eyes look big, way too big, his body way too tense, his jaw about to snap. His uncle, Rufus, seems too afraid to even move, Cornelia close to him, way too close. She has been acting differently for a while, but Gustave cannot exactly tell why.

Dimitri relaxes a little when the Duscurian boy at his side moves, his hand shaking slightly when he reaches out to touch the prince, but deciding otherwise when the guards look at him with way too much disdain and distrust. Prince Dimitri looks back at them, fury in his eyes, and he embraces the other boy, Dedue, keeping him close while their world crumbles.

Dedue embraces the prince back, protectively, and guilt pools inside of Gustave. Not just out of duty. Never just out of duty.

Count Galatea doesn’t move at the scene. His expression is dark with worry, his wife gently holding his arm as their children stare at the priest solemnly. The man’s hair is bright green, and Gustave swears he has seen him, somewhere. Even though the Archbishop doesn’t really leave Garreg Mach often, she was tactful enough to send someone close to her to officiate the funeral. Her second in command.

The man’s eyes pierce through Gustave in a moment, and he then looks at Ingrid. The priest’s expression softens, because Ingrid’s face and posture are the living expression of grief. Gustave doesn’t know if it’s sadness, anger, or despair that keeps Ingrid awfully quiet, even if her green eyes are red with tears.

The priest mentions Glenn’s name, and she does break down this time, after holding herself together for too much time. Her family flocks around her in a moment, supporting her, letting her know that she is not alone in this.

Gustave thinks about his wife, about his daughter Annette. His heart sinks to the bottom of his body.

A teenage boy looks at Ingrid from Margrave Gautier’s side. The kid, Sylvain, has a frown on his face, which looks frankly unnatural for him. He moves slightly, but the margrave says something, and Sylvain begrudgingly stays in place. The margrave’s oldest son, Miklan, smirks and makes a comment that Gustave is unable to hear. Sylvain’s expression goes dark, but nobody moves, as if they were all used to it. The margrave’s wife has a vacant expression, looking at nowhere in particular. Gustave decides to look somewhere else, weirdly uncomfortable.

And then, he realises. Duke Fraldarius is looking right at him. He is alone, his youngest son nowhere to be seen. Felix has always been a little too sensitive, like his mother was back when she was alive. He is young, younger than the prince, and doesn’t deal well with negative emotions, so he is probably grieving alone, far from the public spotlight.

Seeing Rodrigue like that, alone, in his own son’s funeral, is disheartening. Absolutely miserable.

Gustave averts his gaze.

The day is grey and cold, as it usually is in Fhirdiad. For Gustave, it was pride, it was joy. But now His Majesty is dead, and His Highness is broken. He wasn’t there, shielding the king’s body as Dedue is shielding Dimitri’s. The chapel smells like incense, and the Saints’ gaze, looking at him from above, don’t seem comforting for once. It all looks oppressive, accusatory. It doesn’t bring him solace anymore.

He has failed.

And so, he leaves.

The guilt he feels threatens to eat him alive, a parasite spreading quicker than he can rationalize it. He knows well that the choice he is about to make is the wrong one. He cannot stop himself from walking towards it.

He has to go, leave Fhirdiad, leave the prince that he loves like a son, and not only because of Lambert and Gustave’s own disgusting feelings. Leave the Kingdom, his beautiful wife, his lovely daughter. He knows that Annette will never be able to forgive him, and a part of him is actually glad.

He doesn’t deserve forgiveness for what he has done, and for what he is about to do.

He should have died in his king’s stead. It was his duty, the oath he swore. He should have been there, protecting Lambert. If he had, maybe he would have been able to see that smile, one last time, warm like the sun, making Fhirdiad less cold.

Dimitri’s broken expression makes it seem freezing, like the sweat on Gustave’s skin.

“I’m sorry, Annette. Your Highness.”

He doesn’t need to mention the king, not even to himself, because the ghost of an unfulfilled duty and a lost love will haunt him forever.

“Where are you going, Gustave?”

Rodrigue’s voice startles him, and a part of him just tells him to run, as fast as he can. To run, and never look back. Not to face the man who actually has the right to mourn, that is strong enough to stay.

_What a pitiful man you are, Gustave._

“I… I don’t know.”

Rodrigue looks livid. He has never seen him like this, so furious, his usually calm and cheerful face twisted with rage. Something has broken inside of them both, that much he knows. Something that he doesn’t think that can be fixed.

“Are you going to leave him? When he needs you the most?”

Gustave’s stomach twists in both pain and guilt.

“He doesn’t need a failure.” he spits, and he realises that’s what he truly thinks. “He has more qualified people than myself. He has you.”

Rodrigue is not a tall man, nor especially imposing. He is a holy knight, made to heal, not to hurt. Still, Gustave finds himself sweating, paler by the minute. His fingers tremble when Rodrigue grunts, his blue eyes piercing through Gustave’s ones.

“I wasn’t there either. I couldn’t protect them.” Rodrigue says, and he looks on the verge of both crying and yelling. “Glenn was there, too. I lost my son, Gustave.”

Gustave cannot look at him anymore, his eyes on his own shoes. He cannot face him. Not like this.

“I lost my son, I lost my king. My oldest child, and the man I loved.”

At that, Gustave does look at him, eyes widening. He had always suspected that much, but getting a confirmation from the man himself is a whole different matter.

“Did he…”

“Of course he didn’t. Or would you have been able to tell him, yourself?”

Gustave stays silent. Of course he wouldn’t have. Lambert loved Patricia, more than anything. He was his king, their king. He would have never dared to suggest anything. Gustave himself is a married man, and he does love his wife. She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve that kind of betrayal. She doesn’t deserve a passionless man who made love to her dutifully, but without real lust.

Annette doesn’t deserve a father that cannot love her mother the way most fathers do.

“I would have never dared. I’m a coward, Rodrigue.”

Rodrigue says nothing, for a moment.

“You can choose not to be. You can choose to be a crutch for his Highness. A good father, a good husband.”

He remembers the prince, embracing the Duscurian kid with desperation. His wife’s disappointment. Annette’s sad face, always so expressive, her blue eyes full of tears, her lips trembling as she pouts slightly. He hates to make her sad. It’s what he hates the most in the world.

Annette doesn’t deserve a failure as a father.

Gustave wishes he could smile, even if bitterly. 

“Can I?”

Rodrigue looks at him for some seconds, his rage gone, just looking at him with such deep sadness that Gustave wants to stab himself. The man just lost his son, and his king, and he is making him even more miserable. Selfish, selfish Gustave.

“You are going to regret this.” Rodrigue mutters, and it’s not a threat. Far from it. It’s just a statement, a matter of fact. Like stating that rain falls downwards, or that the sky is blue. That Embarr has an awful hot weather, or that the nobles from the Alliance are backstabbing assholes lusting for power.

Gustave inhales, closing his eyes. His choice has been made, but he doesn’t feel its real weight until he speaks. And then, he knows his life as he knows it is over. That he will spend the remains of it repenting from a continuous mistake.

“I already have.”

  
  



End file.
